


The Case of the Missing Letters

by EarthScorpion



Series: The Adventures of the Senora of Nuln [1]
Category: Warhammer Fantasy
Genre: Homage, Mystery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-28
Updated: 2019-11-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21597010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthScorpion/pseuds/EarthScorpion
Summary: Contained for your reading enjoyment; a tale of Valeria von Bildhofen's adventures during the summer of 2202 IC, investigating espionage and the politics of the counts in the Age of the Three Emperors.
Series: The Adventures of the Senora of Nuln [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556464
Kudos: 2





	1. Foreword

“The early years of the twenty-third century were a tumultuous time for the lands of the Empire of Sigmar. Men of the time did not consider themselves part of the Empire, and in a meaningful sense, there was no empire, because the Time of Three Emperors had lasted for centuries. The individual states were nations in their own right. Though the counts and grand dukes and other great men and women who bore the Runefangs paid lip service to the idea that there would be an emperor one day, this was in truth a way to legitimise their own ambitions.  
  
“In the history books, this period is known as the Crisis of the Early Twenty-Third Century, and it was an appropriate name. A certain apocalyptic fervour held true as the century came, and minds turned to thoughts of 1999 IC and the destruction of cursed Mordheim. The ill-fated crusades of the knightly orders and Stirland into Sylvania in the aftermath of the Vampire Wars opened up Stirland to invasion from Averland, and the fragile unity was broken. War soon came; between Reikland and Middenland, Wissenland crusaded against the orcs of once-Solland, and cataclysm came to the Moot.  
  
“In this confused and war-torn era, the existence of Valeria von Bildhofen is well-established, though only in her latter years. While certain Tilean and Estallian records mention her in passing – or mention mysterious deaths and cases of espionage her own papers claim credit for – it is not until her marriage to Justin von Bildhofen that she truly enters the historical record. Although she was poorly known in her own lifetime outside of Nuln, the stories of Maria Schaffer built up the legend of the Senora of Nuln.  
  
“Historical candour, however, forces us to admit that while Schaffer’s tales are beloved, they are also poorly documented, anachronistic, and in many cases entirely fictional. I was disappointed by my discovery when researching her papers that the case of the Ostland Bear-Hound cannot have occurred as described, because Schaffer dates the case to four years before Astrid von Wolfenburg ascended to the throne of that northern state. Additionally, Valeria’s own notes and the records of the Cult of Mannan indicate that Robert Janssen was in his late forties and a former boatman – hardly the romantic figure from her stories.  
  
“Hence, this novelisation is an attempt to capture some of the magic of Schaffer’s work, while hewing more closely to historical documentation. To aid in this, I have included excerpts from various texts to flesh out scenes or provide needed context, where appropriate. While I have used creative liberties where appropriate, hopefully this will help capture historical events in an informative yet entertaining way.  
  
“Chronologically, the case of the Missing Letters comes after the more trivial case of the Tilean Barber’s Ear, but before the case of the Wounded Countess.”  
  
 _Christine von Heidland_  
 _University of Altdorf Press_


	2. The Case of the Missing Letters

**The Gentlewoman Detective  
in  
The Case of the Missing Letters**

  
Just at the edge of the Universität there rose a peculiar household. Though a few years ago, it had been a bustling townhouse full of servants and life, the steep-fronted facade was now overgrown with ivy and wildflowers blossomed around the front. The soot of Nuln had painted the stone black, but no one had bothered to order it repainted.  
  
It was not the sort of place one might expect Count Friedrich von Schwarzburg to make a visit to, and yet here he was, stepping over its threshold, trailing priests in many different robes. One of his greatswords banged on the door for him.  
  
The door swung open.  
  
“Ah, Friedrich,” said the lady of the house, her eyes gleaming and a faint flush to her matronly cheeks. With darker skin and large dark eyes, she was clearly from the southern countries. Her greying hair was covered with a deep maroon headscarf, embroidered with golden thread, and while her gown was traditionally Nulnite, the soft undergown in gold and red was not. “Is this a social call?”  
  
“I am afraid it is not,” the Count said gravely.  
  
“Oh, thank goodness. I was getting bored. And who are all these fine sacerdotes?”  
  
“Also clients.”  
  
Her thick brows rose in surprise. “Now you have my attention. Come in, come in.”  
  
Valeria von Bildhofen had been a scandalous marriage for the second son of the wealthy von Bildhofen family. It was unthinkable that such a noble son would elope with an Estallian - and even less with one whose blood was Maghrebi. Yet, despite the scandal their marriage had been happy and content for ten years, and had only ended when sweating sickness took Justin to Morr’s garden. The rumours had died down, as polite society saw just another widow.  
  
And perhaps the other reason polite society stopped asking so many questions was because Justin had the favour of the last Count. He did certain things down in Estallia and Tilea for Nuln, removing troublesome individuals and speaking to all sorts, and that was where he had met his wife.  
  
Who had been the only woman to defeat him in the Great Game.  
  
Such was Valeria von Bildhofen, then; retired from the bloodier side of her field work, uninterested in remarriage, her daughter off studying with certain ‘associates’ of hers and her son at the university. In short, she was bored.  
  
And that was why she took cases for members of Nuln society. Including, but not limited to, the new Count himself.  
  
Over teeth-achingly sweet mint tea, Friedrich explained his problem.  
  
“Hmm, yes,” she said. “I remember that case last year. Those spies in the Mannanite mail service. So you have decided to reopen it?”  
  
“In short, yes. We,” he gestured to the priests and priestesses with him, “are very concerned with this matter.”  
  
“Hmm”. She tapped her fingers against her tea-glass, clearly enjoying the discomforted expressions of the priests. “So here we have Chief Archivist Ana Tuss, of the Cult of Verena. Lector Albert Ulmer, from the Myrmidians - hello again, Albert, how is the wound holding up? Ah, yes, and of course, Grettel Kristner, a hound of the Order of the Silver Hammer.”  
  
The witch hunter’s lips twisted into a sneer. “And you are the Senora of Nuln. Who dabbles in heresy and witchcraft.”  
  
“Ah, no, as the court showed, I am not a heretic as I have never been a follower of your Sigmar. He is a cold northern god, for cold women like yourself who are much like the hammer you wear. And despite your order’s best efforts, if you would burn me for alchemy then you would also have to burn the entire Nuln Gunnery School, and I think that is a little bit more than even Friedrich will let you get away with. So perhaps…”  
  
The count cleared his throat.  
  
“... perhaps we will have to discuss this another time.” Valeria leaned back, looking at the tallest man, with dirty blond hair streaked with grey and a roughly lined face. “I do not know the Mannanite, though he is a Marienburger, he was not born to a rich family. He drinks my mint tea more eagerly than the others, and does not shun the flavour of my little treats I put out. He is not someone who wastes food, even though he does not find the Maghrebi flavours entirely pleasant. He has a sailor’s tattoos on his arms, so he came to the priesthood later in life - and if what I have heard is true, the Cult of Mannan is very distracted, so it would make sense that he is more junior.  
  
“However, one who does not know this would think from his respectable middle years that he has more authority than he truly does. He holds that staff like a man used to wielding a boathook as a weapon, and the placement of the calluses on his hands shows he is a staff-fighter. Thus, he is the one who has been chosen to be my contact?” She smiled. “Is that what you were looking for, Friedrich?”  
  
“You never do disappoint,” the Count said, eyes twinkling behind his monocle at the signs of obvious surprise from the other senior priests. “Valeria, this is Father Robert Janssen, of the Cult of Mannan - who is the liaison they have provided for your assistance from these investigations.”  
  
“As you no doubt know,” Lector Ulmer said, “the Cult of Mannan is very concerned by the spy ring which was found last year - and so are we all. Quite apart from the political impact here in Nuln if we cannot trust the mail, we consider the provision of secure communication routes to be important for those of us in the Myrmidian faith. Certain letters of ours went… missing last year too.”  
  
“However,” the witch hunter interrupted, eyes narrowed, “I did not wish you bought in, and your presence here is not required. You are here to consult and provide local knowledge of Nuln, not to lead this thing.”  
  
Valeria sipped her tea. “I quite understand. No doubt you are busy, lady witch hunter. I will not stand in your way. I have a few things I must bring to a close before I can begin such a big case - perhaps we should meet again in Friedrich’s palace at the start of next week, mmm? Perhaps if you have your people send me the documentation, I can familiarise myself with whatever progress you have made so far. Which,” she added in a tone suspiciously innocent, “is no doubt prodigious.”  
  
The witch hunter huffed, but said nothing.  
  
“Thank you, Valeria,” said Friedrich von Schwarzburg. “I hope you will be able to bring your own… inestimable talents to this case.”  
  
That was a cue for the priests to leave, and they rose with the grace of comfortable men and women who rode chairs more than horses.  
  
“Though, I believe I will ask that Father Janssen stay,” she added, before he could step out. “I wish to talk with him a little more about this case.”  
  


* * *

  
_“Hear one, hear all! Five men and three women, all residents of Shantytown, have been arrested by the Witch Hunters! Is this a sign of the work of the dark gods? Witnesses say that templars of Mannan, Myrmidia and Verena were also taking part in these raids! More on this story later! But first, a word from our sponsors! Harald Roundbelly’s Pork Pies - made with Mootish quality! Feeling hungry? Just stop by at one of Harald’s shops! They’ll fill your belly! But back to the developing story…”  
  
Gustav Plappermaul, Nuln Town Crier_   
  


* * *

  
Father Robert Janssen had not expected this. When his superior in the Cult had ordered that he accompany the Count of Wissenland, he had thought that it was because the count might have questions about certain things he had seen in the mail service. He had heard of the Senora of Nuln, of course, but to simply be put in her service was not something he had expected.  
  
And her sitting room was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was clearly once a traditional structure of the Nuln aristocracy - but things he had never seen before lay over the top of the solid stone and aged oak like flesh lay over bones. There were rugs laid out, woven in intricate geometric patterns. Strange idols of foreign gods sat on a little shrine in the corner of the room, half-hidden behind a paper screen that was - if his eyes didn’t deceive him - done in the style of Nippon. A great tiger rug sprawled out before the unlit fireplace, while there were scattered piles of books lying on the temples and the groaning bookcases.  
  
He cleared his throat, feeling the joints of his hands ache in the cool weather. “Exc-”  
  
“Shhp!” The tone was unquestionably maternal, and reached down into his hindbrain to push buttons that dated back forty years. “Hmm. Do the Sigmarites annoy you as much as they do me?”  
  
“I… I beg your pardon?” Without meaning to, he rubbed his thumbs over his gnarled, calloused knuckles.  
  
“The Sigmar of you Sigmish folk - I am sure he is a very fine god. Much like Myrmidia, but for colder climates. People need their own gods. But his priests,” she sucked in breath through her teeth, “ach, they are the most annoying. Perhaps it is the way they act like they should be ruling this city - and every other city with a temple of Sigmar in it. I think the lord of the priests of Sigmar would rather be a count rather than a priest. Or perhaps it is because they keep on trying to accuse me of heresy. Ah well.” She rose, brushing down her gown. “Shall we proceed onto the Naked Halfling?”  
  
He blinked. “I… what?”  
  
She laughed at that. “I am sorry, I realise you are not used to me. It is very simple. That witch hunter, she thinks she has one up over me. She will have her people trawl through all the records of ships coming in and out of this city, and look at who came here and employ many scribes and so on and so forth.” She raised one finger. “And she will put much effort into spiting me, because her people are still annoyed about the case of the Drunken Lector. I am sure she will find all the easy leads that are not worth my time to investigate, and no doubt torture many people - which is a distasteful practice.”  
  
The priest nodded. “But what was that about an… unclad halfling?”  
  
“Ah yes, I see the misunderstanding. It is a bar just by the bridge. Make sure to bring your staff. It can get a little rough there.”  
  


* * *

  
_“I have not enjoyed the past few days. To work in the company of these priests of lesser gods is an affront, but my orders are clear. And though they are to be disdained, the priests of Myrmidia are are least talented at what they do - and the Verenans have useful connections in the Nuln judiciary, given its nature.  
  
“Given what we found, the Mannanite river service has a suspicious number of Talabecland sailors in it. But we have found ones willing to talk, and point towards the ones they know to be suspicious. I have had them taken into custody. My custody, that is. We will see if they talk. And since I have made sure they are separated, we will see if their stories agree.  
  
“I will show the Count that he did not need to bring that heretical woman into things. We do not need her type in the lands of Sigmar!”  
  
Diary of Grettel Kristner_   
  


* * *

  
The staff connected with the man’s kneecap with a crunching sound. He went down, collapsing to the filthy rush-matted floor. Robert kicked him in the nuts for good measure.  
  
The other tavern toughs flinched back, cupping their groins protectively. The man on the floor threw up, which didn’t make it appreciably less clean. “Oooh, that ain’t right,” one of them called out. A small, rat-like man with clear Ostermark heritage, by his reckoning. “You’re a priest! You shouldn’t do that to a man!”  
  
“You shouldn’t threaten a priest,” he snarled back. He brought his staff back to a guarding position, watching the big bald man to the right idly shift around.  
  
“Yeah, but you’re meant to be better than us!”  
  
Valeria cleared her throat, looking around the Naked Halfling with her nose wrinkled. “Senor Baghill,” she called out. “I do hope we can end this game. You still owe me.” She shook her head. “For shame!”  
  
A man - no, a halfling - peeked over the balcony over the top of the room. “Go away!” he hollered down. “Last time you asked for a favour, I lost a toe!”  
  
“I did not ask for a favour,” she said, in that same unusual accent. “I demanded repayment of part of your debt. And I am asking for another payment, Baghill.”  
  
“I have twenty men in here!”  
  
She smiled up at him. “How many men do you think I have out there? But fear not, little man. I am only looking for information.”  
  
The halfling growled. He gestured to the men down below, and they relaxed, knives going back into sheaths and brass knuckles slipped off. “Fine. Come on up. Alone.”  
  
“Of course not. My dear companion, a priest of Mannan, is coming with me. It wouldn’t be right for an honest widow to meet with a disreputable sort like yourself on her own.”  
  
“You always have to get your own way. Fine.”  
  
As they made their way up the narrow stairs, Robert leaned towards the woman in front of him. “Who is this?” he asked Valeria.  
  
“Jobolo Baghill is the reputable owner of this stinking dive bar - and of course, a big man in the halfling mob,” came the response.  
  
“He was going to set all these thugs on you!”  
  
“Oh, no doubt I’d have handled myself.” She paused at the door, and adjusted the sit of her headscarf. “Now, just keep quiet. And don’t rise to his prodding.”  
  


* * *

  
_“A revelation! We have been played for fools, one and all! Under torture, the men have all said that Nordland paid them to steal knowledge of cannon. And with evidence, too! Now we knew where to look, there is much evidence of Nordland conspiracy in this area. We have found the papers of a Nordland merchant who committed the sin of suicide, and it indicates that they have been seeking to use corruption in the Mannanite boat service to transport their stolen documents from the Nuln Engineering College.  
  
“No doubt this is all a plan of the Ulricans! Those wolf-worshipping heretics are seeking out their own goals in the south - and to have their devotees in Nordland be able to build cannon.  
  
“We have shown Wissenland how quickly the Holy Temple of Sigmar and the Order of the Silver Hammer can bring a close to things.”  
  
Diary of Grettel Kristner_   
  


* * *

  
Next Angestag, Robert came once again to the melancholy, decadent house of the branch of the von Bildhofens, climbing the slope away from the stinking smoke and fumes of Nuln. He could still remember the quiet talk that the strange Estallian lady had had with the halfling mobster - and he had needed to make reports of his own on the behaviour of the lady.  
  
This time a servant welcomed him, and led him through to a different sitting room - this one much more in a conventional style.  
  
“Ah, dear Robert,” she observed, dressed in soft - and incredibly expensive - lilac. “How have things been? I hope your fingers are not aching too badly in the wet weather.”  
  
He blinked. They were, in fact. “How did you know that?”  
  
“You clearly broke them in the past - though even if you were not avoiding bending them too much, the fact that you were once a boatman and wield that staff like a boathook suggests that the odds were you had done it.” She stretched. “I have had the servants set out tea, so at least you will be able to warm your fingers, yes?”  
  
Her peculiar mint tea was bracingly strong, but the strange tea glasses did warm his joints.  
  
“Have you thought anything more about what that silly halfling said?” she asked him.  
  
“It is very strange,” he admitted. “From what I have heard, everyone was suspecting Talabecland. Yet the information he had was about certain thefts and extractions that agents of Nordland had performed in Nuln. And Witch Huntress Kristner has just accused Nordland of being the true agents behind the espionage.”  
  
“Mmm. She has found these answers very quickly,” she said.  
  
“It does make sense.”  
  
She laughed, a clear, bell-like sound. “No, of course not. While of course I would not dare to impunge the honour of the witch hunters, I do impunge their investigative rigour. I have already been speaking with Archivist Tuss - the lady from the Cult of Verena, yes?”  
  
“Mmm?”  
  
“Well,” she smiled at him, her rounded cheeks creasing up, “there had not been the evidence of such a conspiracy until recently. And so much of it comes from unreliable sources. I went to dear, stupid Senor Baghill because everyone knows I use him as a source of information. If you wanted me to believe something, you would make sure he knows to tell me what I want to know.”  
  
“So the Nordlanders are innocent?”  
  
“When did I say that?”  
  
Robert blinked. “You mean…” He cracked his knuckles. “The Talabeclanders have been spying. And they have thrown a separate conspiracy run by Nordland under the wheels of the Sigmarite cart to hide themselves.”  
  
“Ah, very well done. You in a few moments have realised what this foolish witch hunter has not. Now, at the moment this is just conjecture - but I feel perhaps it would be best for us to go on a little field trip to verify it. In fact, I was hoping your order might provide us with a boat.”  
  


* * *

  
_“Word from the north! Everything I have found is true! Nordland has been building great foundries with knowledge they stole from Nuln! Ha! The count did not need to involve that wretched woman at all!”  
  
Diary of Grettel Kristner_   
  


* * *

  
The wind was blowing from the north, cold and bitter - but at least it made sure the smokes of Nuln did not come towards them as they headed towards a small market town on one of the mail boats. Its blue paint was already streaked with black from its time in Wissenland.  
  
It was a day downriver until they arrived at the small port of Flussufer - not the only place named that which Robert had encountered. He had enjoyed the boat trip, though. It was more honest than Nuln. The lady stayed in the captain’s quarters he had secured for her, scribbling on slates and connecting things together with string and pins stuck into wood.  
  
Compared to the scale of the city they had just been in, this was a town of only a thousand souls. The buildings at the edge of the river were speckled in black mould, and there were signs of a recent flood.  
  
“We’re here,” he said, entering her cabin.  
  
“Well, Robert,” said Valeria. Her deep brown eyes met his, looking up from the chalk slate covered in notes. “As a poet once said, ‘What wicked webs we weave/when we seek only to deceive’. Have you ever seen a case as complicated as this?”  
  
He scratched his stubble. “No, I don’t think I have. Of course, I’m more at home with the sea than with these things.”  
  
“Ah, but is this not the greatest sea there is?” She smiled. “Though the fish in Nuln have teeth of steel and golden scales.”  
  
“I thought you had this solved.”  
  
“Things are never solved,” she said dismissively. “There is just evidence that suggests things one way or another. But I believe there is at least one more faction at play in this - someone who is using the money Talabecland is spreading around to move their own people into position. Well, there is also the Brotherhood of the Blue Feather, but I know them of old - and I have made sure to tell that annoyingly shrill witch hunter about them. Perhaps then she will avoid meddling in this sensitive stage.”  
  


* * *

  
_“That awful woman’s servants have told me of a cult of the followers of the dark gods. Well, at least she’s good for something. I have left the others for this business - which is, after all, not my expertise - and gone after the vile heretics instead.  
  
“Suspicious, is it not, that she would know of such things?”  
  
Diary of Grettel Kristner_   
  


* * *

  
They went around the town, asking questions - very strange ones, by Robert’s estimation, not at all related to the case they were working for. There were indeed many Talabeclanders here, and few of them would speak to the Estallian woman. But more than that, they acted strangely when they saw him in her company.  
  
“Is it just me, or are they being evasive when they see me?” he whispered to her as they made their way along the thin muddy streets. His boots and her high-raised platform shoes squelched in the squalor.  
  
“Indeed they are.” She patted his overcoat. “We will make a detective of you yet, priest. See, I have been using you to see how they react. They are suspicious when they see me, because my reputation has carried this far downstream. But perhaps I am here for something else. When I send you into a place, they see nothing wrong. But, ah, when the two of us enter somewhere, and they see that I am in the company of a priest of Mannan, that is when they worry. Because that is when they know that I, la senora de Nuln, am working for the Cult of Mannan. And that scares them.”  
  
“This is not proof.”  
  
She sighed. “No, it is not - though it is no doubt enough that your northern witch-hunters would send a man to a stake for less. But that is not what we are looking for.”  
  
“We are not?”  
  
“No, indeed we are not. Because we are seeing how they react.”  
  
“Ah.” Robert’s eyes widened as he picked his way through the mire, using his staff as a walking stick. “So you expect them to throw someone else into the river to get you off their course.”  
  
“Precisely.”  
  


* * *

  
_“Ah, alas, I could not properly seek those followers of the dark gods. I had only just started my hunt, and now I have been reassigned. They want witch hunters to accompany Prince Konstantin’s army when it marches into Middenland. Who knows what those northern wolf-idolaters and their alchemists might do!”  
  
Diary of Grettel Kristner_   
  


* * *

  
Her prediction was right. Within a few days, evidence had mysteriously shown up that implicated someone else - someone that had Robert opening his eyes in shock. Then it was back to Nuln, to follow up on the clue. It lay in the Industrielplatz, where the air was thick with smog and burning furnace flames lit up the night.  
  
Valeria stepped into this bar that stared out sullenly toward the Iron Tower, full of scarred and burned workers in the foundries. Some crossed themselves - others focussed on their drinks.  
  
She rapped on the bar table. “Myself and my guest,” she nodded to Robert, “are here to see Doublet.”  
  
“Does anyone here look like they ever seen one of ‘em up close?” grunted the man. “You’ze lookin’ for a clothing place, lady. Not a bar.”  
  
“I am speaking of the individual, Doublet, who I have met before,” she said. “Why do people do this? Does it ever work?”  
  
“The priest stays out,” the bartender said, after some thought managed to seep through his thick skull.  
  
“Very well.” She turned to Robert. “Do try to stay safe. This is, I fear, non-negotiable.”  
  
She vanished into the back of the bar, and suddenly he felt very alone. He was a priest, standing alone in a bar - and none of them wanted him here. It seemed they were scared of the Lady von Bildhofen, but one of her companions? A much easier target.  
  
Well, as someone who had spent more than his fair share of time in bars before he’d found religion, he knew how to handle such things. There was one man in particular who was giving him the stink eye. The kind of man who was big, but not the biggest; the kind of man who always looked to rise above his station. The man who’d try to turn the bar against him so he could say he’d kicked a priest out of their drinking hole.  
  
And since Robert hadn’t forgotten everything from his drinking days, he slipped on his lead knuckles as the snaggle-toothed man swaggered towards him.  
  
One blow later, and the foundry worker was face-down on the filthy floor. And there was a hush in the bar, the sound of many big men not making any noise.  
  
“I didn’t like his face,” Robert said, letting his Marienburger accent bleed through. “Now, next round’s on me!”  
  


* * *

  
The backroom was only lit by a single candle in a lantern. It shed enough light to give a shape to the gloom. And to reveal the floating white face in the backroom; a mask worn by someone otherwise dressed all in black.  
  
“You would be Doublet,” Valeria said, keeping her hands up her long sleeves.  
  
“What’s in a name?”  
  
“We haven’t met before, but I knew your predecessor.”  
  
Doublet stiffened up. “You must be mistaken, my lady. Doublet never dies.”  
  
“Madam, do not treat me like a fool.” Valeria shifted her weight from side to side. “Doublet is the mask, not the person wearing it. Your predecessor was male. And missing a leg. And bleeding to death, the last time I saw him. The Case of the Lector’s Missing Leg went rather wrong for him.”  
  
“And what brings the infamous Senora of Nuln to this place?” The mask didn’t move.  
  
“Perhaps I merely wanted to seek out a temple of Ranald.”  
  
“All places where dice are played are temples to the Thieving Lord.”  
  
“But this is where you are. And so-”  
  
Someone grabbed her arm, slamming it hard into the wall. Red-hot pain flared and silver flashed at her throat. But she twisted in the hold, bringing her other hand around and there was a soft click.  
  
They froze in a tableau.  
  
“We seem to be at an impasse,” Doublet said. She did not wear her mask; her face was hidden under black cloth. She had a knife at Valeria’s throat.  
  
“Indeed,” Valeria said, her expensive dwarf-made pepperpot pistol pressed into Doublet’s gut. “I knew you weren’t wearing the mask. It is hung on a dummy, yes? So others look at the white thing in the darkness. I have done the same myself.”  
  
“Ah, your tricks are infamous. What do you want, Senora?” The knife drifted slightly away from her throat.  
  
“I’m doing you a favour.” She forced herself to smile. “I expect repayment.”  
  
“I’m not sure this is a favour.”  
  
“The spies of Talabecland sold you out. You know they own the Nuln branch of the Mannan river-mail service?”  
  
“Ah, so is that who’s been contesting us?”  
  
“Yes. And when I poked my nose into them, they told me exactly where you were - and what you were up to. You want to control the river wardens - you’re spreading out of Stirland. They got worried after I kept on searching, and threw your name my way.”  
  
“Hmm.” Doublet backed off. “You can put that gun away. I’ll need to verify that. I don’t trust you.”  
  
“Of course you don’t.” She retracted her pepperpot pistol back into her sleeves. “And I don’t trust you. For you, deception is a religious obligation.”  
  
“Why hasn’t Ranald ever called you, Senora?”  
  
“I have my own gods, and I will not give them up for your northern ones,” she said. Her wrist was aching in a dull, throbbing way; Doublet was stronger than she looked. Or perhaps it was just that Valeria was getting old. “But that’s all I wanted to say.”  
  
That, and to verify the leak, but both of them knew how this game was played.  
  
Out in the bar, she raised an eyebrow at the sight of Robert downing a mug of ale against a hulking burn-scarred covered shirtless man. He slammed the mug down only a breath or two after the man.  
  
“Ha! Nice one, priest!” boomed the worker. “No one ever out-drinks Big Wilhelm!”  
  
“‘m a priest of Mannan! ‘S m’duty to drink like a fish!”  
  
Valeria sighed. Men. “I have what I need,” she told him. “Do you want to stay with your new friends?”  
  
“He’s alright for a priest!” Big Wilhelm boomed, slapping Robert on the back so hard he nearly fell over.  
  
“I’m mingling!” Robert said, slurring faintly. “Trust me, I’m gonna out-drank-em all!” And then he winked at her.  
  
“Well, I’ll leave that to you,” she said, and left into the Nuln evening.  
  
The man was faking it. And they weren’t so willing to talk with her. Well, she’d leave him to it and see if anything showed up.  
  


* * *

  
“... and well, that’s about it, my lord,” Valeria said, swirling the mint tea in her glass. She was using her left hand, because her right was still bandaged up. “Your city is a nest of vermin. It’s why it keeps me entertained.”  
  
Friedrich von Schwarzburg was rather less amused than his gentlewoman detective. “And you are certain?” he demanded.  
  
“Of course not. Certainty is for priests. I am a humble scholar. But this is what the evidence suggests.”  
  
The man didn’t slam his hand on the table, but from a twitch in his shoulder, she could tell he wanted to. “So the Mannanite river mail is riddled with Talabecland spies…”  
  
“I wouldn’t use the word ‘riddled’,” she said mildly. “But it suggests that the duchess has been spying on us since the start.”  
  
“And those wretched Ranald cultists too?”  
  
“Indeed.”  
  
“And those Norscans up in Nordland have been spying on us too?”  
  
“Ah, that’s actually a common misconception. They’re not actually Norscans. But suffice to say, yes.”  
  
“This is serious.”  
  
“Perhaps. That is a judgement for counts, not for independent widows like myself.” She rose elegantly. “Now, excuse me, but I intend to take a short leave of absence from your city. Don’t worry, though. I’ll be heading down south, to see my daughter.”  
  
Count Friedrich looked up at her, the oil lamp reflecting off his monocle. “You always seem to make trouble for me, Valeria. What am I meant to do with this?”  
  
“Make trouble? What would be the fun in that?” She paused at the door, dark eyes twinkling. “Other people put the effort into making the trouble. I just find it. I am sure when I am back, you will have more amusing things in Nuln for me to investigate.”


End file.
